WriteOnTime is still my beta. I'm not sure why she continues to put up with me.

Ciaobella27 doesn't tell me to shut up when I talk about Bella all day, and reads my stuff before you guys do.

They're awesome.

I don't own Twilight.

July 2009

He's, like, a kid. He looks like he's old enough, and I'm pretty sure he's a year or two older than me, but I'm standing in the bedroom of a child. Posters, a guitar, clothes everywhere. An Xbox. Really? I stop looking around and look at him. He's blushing, opening his mouth to apologize; I feel like an ass. I smile and put my fingers over his mouth. I kiss him. He's surprised, but it's stupid, because why else am I here? It started with 'Wanna hang out after this?' 'Sure.' 'Cool, we can go to my place.' 'Okay.' He was hot and interesting. He was older than the rest of the college kids home for summer vacation, partying hard in someone's parents' house. Why was I there? Right, to party. To do normal things. Drink. Smoke. Have some fun. But Jake was annoying, taking stupid pictures of me on his friend's camera until I had to flip him off and ask Edward if he wanted to leave. So we drove here. His place is his parents' place. Of course. He has a separate entrance, making him so awesome and cool. Why does he still live here? I ask too many questions that I won't repeat out loud.

His mouth is hot. His hands are warm and strong and on my back and between my legs. It's too bright in here. I ask him to turn off the lights. I push him against the wall. I'm on my knees. My jeans are tight around my thighs, like, really tight. I haven't been wearing jeans in a while, and I didn't expect this.

He looks so surprised. What else are we here for? I run a finger down his zipper. I like the feeling. My hands are on him. I can do things really, really fast. You can time me. He gasps when I lick him. He didn't expect this. I'm glad. He's eager and excited, and his mouth is hanging open, his fists are clenched, his arms are sexy, young. He moves until I'm kneeling between him and the wall, his hands flat against it, way above me. They're not on the back of my head. They're not in my hair. They're not pushing, controlling. His voice is soft and deep when he says things I can't quite make out. No southern drawl. No 'sweetie' or 'hurry' or 'what was that?' or 'shhh'. When he comes it's quick and unexpected, and he's shaking, and he slams his hand against the wall. Panting. Looking down at me. Then I'm off the floor and in his arms and he kisses me.

What is this?

My heart beats faster than it has in a while. This. This is what I love. The burn and thrill. I let him move against me and kiss me and throw me onto his bed. He stares at me as he slides his pants all the way off. I watch him, lying flat on my back, my knees up, legs spread, fingers on my button and zipper. He watches me take off my jeans. I lie back again, open my legs as wide as they can go, he takes off his shirt, I take off mine, and he's on top of me. "You're so hot," he tells me. He has me naked so fast that I don't have time to freak out. I don't even have time to wonder how long it's been since I've had sex. Real sex. Not bodies moving and fingers exploring and mouths everywhere. Actual sex. Oh man, I'm excited. And he's so warm and heavy, and his skin is delicious, and I try different things. Bites and licks and scratches, and he doesn't complain. He's rough right back, and I'm rougher, and he's a mess. Looking at my face, at the floor, looking so confused. "What?" "You know". No, I don't know. And then I'm watching him deal with a condom. His hands are shaking. His dick is big and hard, and now I'm scared. What if I suck at this? What if it's been too long? I whimper when he pushes inside me. I hug him to me, hold him, and then I let him move and move. He kisses me and pushes me back on the mattress, holds my legs, and moves me around, and does what he wants, and it all feels good. His face tells me he loves it. I feel wonderful. Hot. When he starts making noises and telling me how good I am, I feel confident, sexy; I move on top of him. He stares at my chest, touches it, holds my hips, rocks me. I scream, and I didn't expect to come so fast. He's still inside me, and he's coming, pushing up hard and fast. Then he's holding me, playing with my hair, kissing my face.

"Um."

"Yeah?" he whispers against my cheek.

"I should go."

"Why?"

"My parents… I can't do sleepovers."

He chuckles and I like how he feels, so I snuggle up against him, I push my face into his chest.

"It's only midnight," he points out. "Surely you can stay out until one, maybe two. Do you have a curfew, Bella Swan?"

"I'm twenty-two, asshole," I say with a laugh. Is he funny, too? Take him out of this room and out of Forks, and he could be a catch.

"So stay."

"Okay, just for a little bit."

I'm lying here naked with a man I barely know. I want to ask him if he was born and raised here. He knows my dad. He knows Jake. He was a senior when my family moved to Forks. I was a sophomore. I don't remember him. He said he doesn't remember me. Then college happened. Then the internship happened. Now all of that is over. Now I'm back before I move away again for grad school. I make stupid plans in my head to spend days with him (does he even work?). I want to sleep here in his bed (I hope he's single). Then I'll leave and he won't care, because I don't think guys usually do. I think maybe I should spend the night here to get the point across to my parents that I'm an adult, I can do what I want. I've been an adult for a long time now, they don't realize this, but I'm not a child. If I stay here tonight, I can stay out any other night. Okay, fine. I'll stay. I won't tell him I'm staying, I'll just kiss him and we'll have sex again, and then we'll fall asleep.

"You're tired," he says. "Just stay here tonight, you'll figure out what—"

"Yeah, I think I should stay."

He's kissing me again and my legs and arms are wrapped around him. It's dirtier this time. Louder. He gives me something to sleep in. He brings me a bottle of water and asks if I'm hungry. I tell him 'no', and we don't have much to say. It's quiet, almost awkward. He apologizes for not having an extra toothbrush. He reads a little before he sleeps. He's a little strange. There are pieces of an old sticker half scratched off on the side of his dresser. He's a democrat. I laugh. Poor kid. He wants to know what's up, why I'm laughing. I point to what I've been staring at.

"That sucked," I say.

"Yeah, yeah it did."

"But he's not so bad…"

"Did you ever get to meet him?" Edward asks.

"Yeah."

"Major douchebag?"

"He's not so bad," I repeat.

"Are you a Republican?"

"Me? No." I'm nothing, really.

"How could you stand it? Working there around those people?"

"It was pretty awesome, actually." My cheeks are burning. This is where I need to tell my stories, this is where I burn with that need, where I'm about to explode. But not this time. I don't think I want to tell Edward anything.

"Well," he starts, "that's good, I guess."

"I'm tired."

"Yeah, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He kisses me goodnight like he knows me. I push him away, trying to be subtle, but I also want him to know I'm pushing him away. But as soon as he's asleep, I move back against his chest. It's nice like this. I think about things when I close my eyes. Secrets and lies and an office far, far away. Then I think about Edward. I want to have breakfast with him tomorrow. Walk around. Be around people. He'll hold my hand. Maybe kiss me. I wish he didn't live here. I wish he was someone. Something. I'm better than this. But this is nice. I'm glad my eyes are closed. I can imagine I'm not in a boy's room. I can imagine Edward wearing a shirt and cufflinks and a tie I can take off. This isn't me, but this is nice. I should stop thinking. I can sleep well here. And I do. And it's the last peaceful night for months and months. Because the next day, a phone call changes everything. I leave Forks. I leave Washington. I regret not explaining things to my parents before my flight. I regret taking that picture the night before, in which I'm flipping off Jake with a stupid smirk on my face. That picture now defines me. My actions all define me. And it sucks, but it's not unfair. I'm certainly not innocent. I don't think I ever wanted to be innocent. But this life? I never thought that this would be the price I'd have to pay.

Yeah, so, I think I'll be updating once a week? Every ten days? Something like that.

I want to thank my awesome friends who listened to me talk about this story for weeks. HelenahJay, Ciaobella27, Spargelkun, Lisa, Niki, Tor, and probably a million others. My brain is fried right now, so if I forgot a few people, I'll mention them in my next update.

You guys are the best. I always appreciate your thoughts and opinions.